JFC, Barry
by LaylaBinx
Summary: [2017 movie-verse] Five times Barry was remarkably nonchalant about how terrible his life has been and one time he wasn't. Rated for blood, violence, and Arthur's mouth


**Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well! I've been wanting to write this since November and finally got the chance to do so! Hope you all enjoy! :D**

* * *

They bond over ice cream.

After facing off against Steppenwolf, resurrecting the Last Son of Krypton, and becoming one-sixth of the aptly named Justice League, Barry Allen thought nothing could surprise him anymore. He recants that statement pretty much immediately when he discovers that Diana Prince, gorgeous, formidable Amazonian badass extraordinaire, is completely and utterly addicted to ice cream. Barry can't say that he blames her (because, you know, same) but it's just so endearing and relatable that he finds himself taken aback. Not in like a bad way or anything; it doesn't change his opinions of her. If anything it makes him like her more and he feels like he finally has something in common with his divine teammate.

Diana is in town for business and had called him that morning to check in. In spite of everything, Barry still has trouble sometimes wrapping his head around that fact that he can technically call Wonder Woman his friend without sounding like a pretentious douche or a pathological liar. It doesn't stop him from checking the caller ID no less than four times in the span of fifteen seconds to make sure he's seeing her name correctly.

The phone call had been brief and ended with the agreement that they would meet up around three o'clock that afternoon once Diana was through with her appointment. Barry grinned as he hung up the phone.

That's how he finds himself sitting outside of a little shop called _Buttercream_ with an Amazonian goddess lounging in the chair across from him. Diana is dressed conservatively in black slacks and deep purple blouse and she looks every bit like a supermodel taking a break from a photo shoot. Barry found out rather quickly that Diana looks like a supermodel no matter what she's doing; she could make a burlap sack look like a ballgown with absolutely no effort.

For his part, Barry looks like he just rolled out of bed. He'd been so busy studying that he hadn't even realized it was 2:58 until his phone chirped at him that it was about to die. The good thing about super speed was that it took him less than two seconds to get clear across town to meet up with Diana. The bad thing was that he didn't think to change before he took off and thus showed up in a pair of tattered jeans and a t-shirt he's had since he was sixteen. Had he known Diana was going to show up looking gorgeous as usual, he would have at least attempted to comb his hair.

Diana didn't seem to mind or notice; she just greeted him with a warm smile and a hug that felt like sunshine. Barry has only ever met one Amazonian in his life but he wonders if they all smell like Diana, like a combination of sea salt and clover. He figures that's a creepy question though so he keeps it to himself and follows her to a table.

"So how is the new job going?" Diana asks, taking a small bite of the ice cream in her cup. It's a decadent mixture of cookie dough and caramel swirl and she treats it like it's the nectar of the gods themselves.

"Good, good," Barry tells her with a quick nod. "I mean I'm still the low man on the totem pole so it's a lot of paperwork and filing but it's better than being a delivery boy so I can't complain." He flashes a quick grin and stirs his own ice cream concoction, a green clump of pistachios and frozen raspberries. "How about you? How goes the antiquities business?"

Diana smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "Antiquities are antiquities," she says vaguely. "They are in no danger of disappearing and as more time passes, the more antiquities there are." She grins and takes another bite of ice cream. "My job is secure."

Barry wants to ask what she had come to collect that morning but a loud chorus of song breaks out a few tables behind them and they both turn to see the source. There's a birthday party taking up the last few tables at the edge of the sidewalk, a group of children and adults excitedly singing "Happy Birthday" to a little girl in the middle. She grins brightly, missing two of her front teeth, and blows out the candles on the ice cream cake in front of her. As soon as all of them are blown out (six to be exact), the rest of the party breaks into applause.

Diana laughs and claps along with them, her expression cheerful and warm. "I just love birthdays," she says with a grin, turning her attention back to their small table. "They're such happy occasions."

"Did you celebrate birthdays back of Themyscira?" Barry asks, unable to keep his own smile off his face as he watches Diana.

She shakes her head slowly and leans back against her chair. "No," she tells him, almost wistfully. "My sisters and I are immortal so there was never any reason to celebrate something like that. To be honest I doubt any of them even know how old there are." She smiles again and looks at him. "What about you? How do you celebrate your birthday?"

Barry elegantly chokes on a pistachio and coughs hoarsely into the crook of his elbow. He straightens after a second and shakes his head, waving away the concerned look on Diana's face. "Sorry, sorry," he says, clearing his throat as he sits up a bit straighter. "I uh, I don't really celebrate my birthday that much."

Diana frowns again, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. "Why not? I thought birthdays were something all children looked forward to."

Barry doesn't know how to feel about the fact that he's been lumped into the 'children' category but he just shakes his head. "I've just never really had a reason to celebrate it," he tells her with a small shrug. "I mean my mom was killed a few weeks after my ninth birthday and the next year I spent my birthday visiting my dad in prison. The year after that I spent it locked in a shed because I was annoying my foster parents so after that I just kind of stopped celebrating it because-"

He stops because he hadn't meant to say any of that out loud and now Diana is staring at him and oh my God, the expression on her face is probably one of the worst things he's ever seen. She looks stricken and devastated, her pretty face pinched into an expression that should never, ever grace her beautiful features and Barry wants nothing more than to fling himself into the nearest hole for making her look that distraught.

"Oh God, Diana, no, it's not- I mean, it sounds bad but it wasn't-"

"You were locked in a _shed_?" Diana asks, aghast.

Barry fumbles for the right words, flailing desperately like he's falling off a highwire. "Yeah, but it was a really _nice_ shed and it's honestly not as bad as you think and-"

Diana shakes her head, her expression wounded. "Why on earth would someone do that to you?"

Barry makes some kind of gesture with his hand, he's not exactly sure what, and lets it fall back into his lap. "I was just being an annoying kid and they were tired of dealing with and-"

"That's no excuse," Diana cuts him off, dark eyes blazing. She looks angry, not at him but _for_ him. "Barry, what those people did to you was wrong. You know that, don't you?"

He's taken aback for a moment because yeah, on some level he's always know that but he's never really dwelled on it. He always just chalked it up to his foster parents not having the energy to deal with a hyperactive eleven-year-old and deciding some quiet time in the shed was the perfect remedy.

"Barry," Diana says, reaching across the table and laying one hand on his arm. Barry flushes crimson and looks down quickly, irritated with himself all over again for upsetting Diana and not keeping his mouth shut.

"Barry, look at me."

Barry looked up tentatively because when an Amazonian princess tells you to look at her, you do.

"You did nothing to deserve that," Diana tells him firmly, squeezing his arm just a little. "No matter what you think or what their reasons were, what they did to you was wrong."

Barry gestures again and he thinks should really figure out what he's trying to say when he does that because right now it just looks like a twitch. Unable to come up with a good explanation for said gesture, he slumps in his chair in defeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset," he says quietly, ice cream suddenly forgotten. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Diana just squeezes his arm again. "I'm the one who should apologize," she tells him gently. "I'm sorry for bringing up such bad memories."

It's Barry's turn to shake his head and he nearly gives himself whiplash in the process. "It's okay, really, it's not a big deal."

For a moment Diana looks like she wants to say more but she lets it go when it becomes clear how uncomfortable Barry is with the conversation at hand. So instead she pats his arm lightly and leans back just a little. She watches him silently for a moment before speaking again. "You deserve to be happy, Barry. Please don't ever think differently."

Barry is a little taken aback by her earnesty and it causes something in his chest to clench just a little. No one had ever told him that, at least not so bluntly, and it's kind of nice to have the assurance. "Thanks Diana," he says with a small smile.

The Amazonian goddess gives him a warm smile in return. She holds up her half-eaten ice cream cup like a wine glass. "To happiness."

Barry smirks a little and copies her gesture. "To happiness," he repeats, tapping the edge of his cup to hers.

 **OOOOO**

He's late.

How can one of the fastest people on the planet be late? The irony of it is staggering and yet there it is, plain as day. He's late, he's _sooo_ late, and Clark is going to be pissed.

Okay, no, Clark won't be pissed because he's like the nicest guy in the world when he's not trying to murder them in a post-death rage frenzy but he'll be disappointed and God, that is _so_ much worse.

The whole ' _I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed_ ' bit would just be the worst coming from Clark and Barry almost wished he'd just blast him through a wall instead of mentioning any kind of disappointment. Because he's running late and Clark is going to be disappointed and Barry wants to _die_.

Shortly after they defeated Steppenwolf and subsequently saved the world, he and Clark had started training together. Okay, so 'training' might not be the right word but Barry's not sure what else to call it. Their first race to the ocean had been a joke, honestly, but Clark saw it as something more. It was a good training opportunity, he'd said, a way them to bond as teammates and for him to get back into the proverbial saddle after being temporarily dead.

As for Barry, well, he was just glad he could finally test the limits of his abilities. He'd never been able to really test his speed against anyone else, you know, being the fastest man on earth and all, but Clark offered a real challenge that Barry eagerly accepted. Clark could keep up with him which was both exhilarating and a little terrifying because that had literally never been an issue before. And yeah, maybe, just maybe, Barry wanted to impress him a little because it's Superman and who wouldn't want to impress Superman?

He had beaten Clark (freakin' _Superman_ ) Kent by a millisecond but he's not sure how much of that was luck and how much of it was Clark still recovering from being dead. He took the victory, no matter how small, and the race eventually turned into a regular training session between them.

They'd meet up every couple of weeks and race each other across a greater portion of the United States. It was never too far, a few thousand miles or so, but it gave them both a chance to test their speed and endurance. Clark won sometimes, Barry won others, but it was always in good fun so neither of them minded a loss. They both had lives and jobs outside of the superhero business though so timing was critical and needed to be handled carefully. Which is why Barry is so mortified that he's running late today.

They were only supposed to go to Vancouver today, a relatively short race by their standards, but Barry got caught up doing a few last minute things at the lab and didn't realize he was running late until it was...well too late. And now he's thrown off their schedule and Clark was going to be disappointed and God, could today get any worse?

He skids to a stop when he sees the blue suit and red cape, apologies already tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I know I'm late and you must have been waiting forever and-"

Clark frowns in confusion and opens his mouth to say something but Barry cuts him off before he can.

"I know, I'm sorry! I tried to get here on time, I swear, there were just these files at the lab and I was trying to get them done and…" he fades off and shakes his head vehemently because Clark probably doesn't care about what made him late, just the fact that he's still late.

Clark opens his mouth again but Barry cuts him off once more because he still has a lot more apologizing he needs to to before he can make this right. "And I know you're super busy and I probably threw off your whole afternoon and I'm just so sorry, Clark, it'll never happen again, I swear-"

"Barry," Clark says and that single word is more than enough to shut the rambling speedster up. "It's fine. I've only been here for about forty-five seconds."

"I-" Barry starts, stops, and thinks. He was sure he was running a lot later than that but then time has always been kind of skewed concept since the accident. He slumps a little and lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I'm so sorry. I thought you were going to be so mad because I was running late and you were waiting on me and-"

Clark just shakes his head and offers him a warm smile. "Barry, why would you think I would be mad at you for running less than a minute late?"

Barry falters there because he had never considered the possibility that Clark _wouldn't_ be mad at him for running late. He lets out a relieved laugh. "Wow, sorry," he says again with another chuckle. "I was seriously expecting the worst. I mean the last time I ran late I got kicked out the house in the middle of a blizzard so I just-"

"Wait," Clark says, frowning while he processes what the younger man just said. He fixes Barry with a horrified stare. "You got kicked out of your house in the middle of a blizzard because you were running late?"

Barry frowns and then realizes what he said and waves his hands quickly like he's trying to wipe the words away. "No, no, no. I mean, yes, I got kicked out but it wasn't that bad. Jeff let me keep my jacket so-"

"Who's Jeff?" Clark asks sharply, his dark eyes narrowing.

Barry gulps. "My...uh...he was one of the foster dads I had when I was a kid."

"And this man kicked you out of your house because you were running late?" Clark repeats, incredulous and appalled at the realization.

Barry flounders for a second. "Yeah but I mean he told me that if I ran late again he would lock me me out and-"

"And he did," Clark fills in bluntly. He shakes his head and the ground trembles a little beneath them. Barry nearly loses his balance and has to correct himself quickly to keep from falling over. "Did you report him?"

Barry falters again because Clark is staring at him now, expression grim and troubled, and somehow that's worse than any amount of disappointment Barry had expected before. "I mean, yeah, I filed a complaint with the city but I was also, like, twelve and so they didn't really listen to me and just said they'd send someone to check up on it. I didn't really have anywhere else to go so I just kind of dealt with it."

He shakes his head and tries to brush the conversation aside once more. "Look, it's not a big deal. Really." He tries for a small, humorless laugh. "I mean, I never ran late again after that."

The joke falls flat and Clark gives him a look that's equal parts exasperation and concern. "Barry, you realize that's abuse right?"

The words hit like a punch and Barry slumps a little. "Listen, the guy got arrested a few months after that for drug possession so I got moved to a different home. I know it was a messed up situation but just…" he sighs and fumbles uselessly with his hands. "Can we just forget I ever said anything?"

Clark still looks troubled but he nods slowly. "Alright," he says after a second and it's clear this is not the last Barry will hear of this conversation but for the moment Clark doesn't press. Not right now at least.

"Thanks," Barry says, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed and vulnerable. He clears his throat and shifts back and forth on the balls of his feets. "And sorry, again, about being late. I just didn't want to disappoint you."

Clark steps in front of him then and plants a large, warm hand on his shoulder. "Barry, let's get one thing perfectly clear," the Kryptonian tells him, his voice soft and level. "I'm never going to be disappointed in you for running a few minutes late. Things happen, it's not the end of the world."

He offers him a warm smile that worthy of every newspaper in the world. "So quit beating yourself up about it, alright?"

"Alright," Barry says with a nod, trying to replicate the smile but falling short.

"Good," Clark says, patting him on the shoulder once before turning and facing north. "Now are we going to stand around here all day or are we going to see who can reach Vancouver first?" There's a hint of challenge in his voice and he glances at Barry from the corner of his eye.

Barry accepts it eagerly and smirks. "I've always wanted to see the North Shore Mountains," he says just before he breaks into a run, Clark right behind him.

 **OOOOO**

"What's up with the peppermints?"

"Huh?" Barry asks as he pops another candy into his mouth.

Victor gestures toward the open bag sitting on the couch between them wordlessly. "The peppermints, man. You've gone through, like, three pounds of them in less than two hours."

"I have not," Barry counters as he rattles the aforementioned candy against his teeth. He shrugs one shoulder before continuing. "I just like peppermints, that's all. Also, I thought we agreed on no cheating in this game," he says, shooting a dull glare at his cybernetic teammate.

"I'm not cheating, you just suck at this game," Victor tells him with a smug half-smile.

It was one of the few times they'd gotten to hang out together in the past month that didn't involve saving the world or preventing some kind of crisis and they had planned on spending it in traditional men's fashion: by playing video games and talking shit to each other. All together it had been a very successful afternoon for both.

"And there's a difference between liking peppermints and needing an intervention," Victor tells him with a look. "I'm starting to think you've fallen into the latter category."

Barry rolls his eyes. "Okay, first of all, I _know_ you're cheating because that weapon isn't even available on this level and second it's just a piece of candy, what's the big deal? My metabolism burns through the sugar like, instantly, and it gives me minty fresh breath so win-win."

Victor doesn't appear convinced and levels him with an unimpressed stare. "You're going through those things like an ex-smoker coping with nicotine withdrawals."

"No I'm not," Barry mumbles defensively, actively ignoring the way his pockets crackle with the sound of discarded peppermint wrappers.

"Yeah, you are," Victor tells him with the sort of finality that only comes when someone has decisively proven their point. "So what's up? People usually only eat like that when they're depressed or bored and from what I can gather you're neither. So what is it?"

"I plead the fifth," Barry says in response, drumming this fingers on the controller in his lap like that will somehow help end the conversation.

"You plead the fifth and I'll give away your location and make sure you're low on ammo when I do it," Victor retorts smoothly.

It draws the desired effect and Barry stares at him, aghast. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Victor says with utter seriousness. "And I'll make sure there isn't a save point nearby. Talk."

Barry sighs heavily and slumps back against the couch. "Ugh, alright, fine," he grumbles when he realizes he's on the losing end of this conversation. "I don't get paid again until Friday and I haven't had a chance to go to the grocery store in a while so I've been using these," he says, indicating the half-empty bag of peppermints on the couch between them. "To keep my mind off being hungry."

"Seriously?" Victor asks, laughing quietly and shaking his head. "Dude, you know there are other ways to quell hunger, right? Like, healthier ways that don't involve mainlining sugar in the form of peppermints."

Barry shrugs and turns his attention back to the game which is only partially effective since Victor has it stuck in pause. "It's a familiar coping mechanism, what can I say?"

"Familiar coping what?" Victor asks, red eye narrowing slightly.

Realizing he's dug himself into a hole, Barry drops his controller and resigns himself to the conversation. "Okay, so like I've always had a crazy high metabolism, even before the accident. On any given day I could easily eat two to three times what other kids my age would."

He slumps into the couch even more and lets his head fall back against the cushion. "Normally this wouldn't be a problem; I mean all kids go through growth spurts where they'll eat everything in the house, right? Well, it becomes a bigger deal when you're living in a house with eight other foster kids and there's a fixed income to adhere to."

He passes a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it into a disheveled mess. "I got put on food allowances. Kind of like a financially invoked diet. I was only allowed to eat a certain amount of food per day, which really wasn't a lot, before it put us over budget. And I was hungry, like, _all the time_ so it was really hard to stick to it sometimes."

Barry pokes the bag of peppermints absently. "One of the girls in the house, Sonia, told me that eating peppermints can help suppress your appetite. The peppermint oil combined with the sugar helps curb cravings and keep hunger at bay or something like that." He waves one hand flippantly like the subject of his coping mechanism for literal starvation was trivial. "Anyway, they're a quick, cheap source of sugar and it'll keep me going until I can go grocery shopping so it's fine."

Victor's cybernetic eye flickers a little a muscle in his jaw tightens. "No, it's not fine, Barry. First of all, food allowances? That's fucked up. Second, you're telling me you've been living off nothing but peppermints for the past few days? What the hell, man?"

Barry shrinks a little under his teammate's crimson glare. "Well, not just peppermints," he counters weakly. "I still have like half a jar of peanut butter at home that-"

The controller snaps in Victor's hand and Barry just barely reigns in a flinch. It's Cyborg's turn to sigh and he squeezes the bridge of his nose like this conversation is causing him physical pain.

"Barry, I swear to God…" he mutters although he doesn't finish the sentence after that. Instead, he stands wordlessly, crumpled game controller falling to the floor at his feet, and walks into the other room.

"Uh, where are you going?" Barry calls after him, watching as Victor returns a few seconds later with a handful of takeout menus that he drops on couch.

"I'm ordering food for us," Victor tells him simply, gathering the destroyed controller and tossing it into a nearby trash can. Barry notes, silently, that there are at least two other controllers in the bin that have met the same fate.

"Dude, no," Barry insists, pushing the menus away for emphasis. "It's fine, I'm fine, I'll get paid again in, like, two days and-"

"Barry, stop," Victor says, effectively cutting him off. "Your foster family may not have had a problem with letting you go hungry but I do." He nods to the menus and fixes Barry with a mechanical glare. "Pick what you want, I'll pay for it, and we'll get back to our game. Deal?"

The questions leaves little room for argument and Barry sighs in defeat. "Deal. But I'm paying you back as soon as I get my next check."

Victor just waves his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, yeah. Just pick."

Twenty minutes later they have a dozen large pizzas split between them and the game is back on (controller replaced).

"You're still cheating," Barry says around a mouthful of pizza.

"You still suck at this game."

 **OOOOO**

"Is Atlantis the only undersea kingdom? Or are there, like, dozens of little underwater communities all over the world? I mean, I didn't even know Atlantis was real until a little while ago so it would make sense that no one else would know about additional underwater civilizations. If they exist, I mean. How would the politics of that work? Would they be divided by ocean or by climate? Do you think Plato's version is accurate or just wildly fictionalized?"

"Plato? What the fuck? The hell kind of question is that?" Arthur asks, stopping just long enough to fix Barry with a pale glare.

"Has Atlantis always been under water or did it actually sink?" Barry continues, completely undeterred. "I heard this theory once about a volcanic eruption and how it caused an entire island to sink so I just wonder if that accurate. And I mean we're talking about a _huge_ eruption, like ten times bigger than Mt. Vesuvius. A lot of people think it has to be located somewhere in the Mediterranean but some people think it's actually out in the Bahamas. Have you heard of Bimini Road?"

"The better question is why are you still talking?"

"Sorry," Barry falters for a split second before continuing. "I just have so many questions-"

"No shit."

"And since this is the first time we've hung out since the whole Steppenwolf thing-"

"We are not _hanging out_ ," Arthur counters in exasperation, quietly wondering why he was the one who got stuck with the rambling speedster and not anyone else. It's a conspiracy, he's almost sure of it. "We're existing in the same room. That hardly counts as hanging out."

"I figured I'd ask," Barry continues.

"God…"

"You can talk to fish right? Do you have a favorite? Like, do you prefer talking to tuna over swordfish? Ooh! What about sharks? I feel like all sharks would sound like a mix of Bruce Willis and Ron Perlman when they talk. I mean _if_ they talk. They talk, right? What about whales?"

"Have you taken a breath in the past five minutes? It's honestly hard for me to tell."

"What about your trident? That came from Poseidon, right? Have you met him? Is he cool or is he terrifying? I feel like he would be terrifying. Like, the god of earthquakes and tsunamis has to be pretty intimidating, right? Hey, have you-"

"Jesus, kid, do you ever shut the hell up?!" Arthur snaps, rounding on his talkative teammate and pinning him with a scowl. "You have been here for twenty minutes and you've talked through every fucking second of it. Is it physically possible for you to stop talking for more than five minutes or would your head explode?"

Barry falters for a split second before recovering with an apologetic smile. "Well, yeah, obviously. I mean, I don't talk _all_ the time."

"And yet you keep doing it."

"It's a nervous habit, really," Barry rambles on because he holds a healthy amount of respect for all of his teammates but he's honestly just a little bit terrified of Arthur. "Like, it's a really annoying habit, I know, but…" he fades off because Arthur is glaring at him and it's like be stared down by a hungry great white.

"I get told to shut up a lot, too," he continues, fidgeting under Arthur's gaze. "In fact the last guy who told me to shut up broke my jaw and it had to be wired shut for two weeks so I _had_ to shut up then and-"

"Wait, what?"

Barry blinks. "What?"

"What did you just say?"

"What?

"Say what one more time and so help me-"

Barry holds his hands up in surrender. "I said the last person who told me to shut up broke my jaw and it had to be wired shut," he says hesitantly, somewhat confused by the expression of perplexed shock on Arthur's face.

"But I mean that was a long time ago," he continues nervously, stammering a little under the Atlantean's pale gaze. "I was like thirteen and the foster guy I was living with told me if I didn't stop talking he'd break my jaw and well, I didn't stop talking so he...uh...why do you look so angry?"

"You were thirteen and some asshole intentionally broke your jaw to shut you up?" Arthur repeats, his voice hard and cold like a tidal wave.

Barry's head bounces once in a nod. He tries for a laugh but it comes across as shuddery little scoff instead. "Well yeah, but I mean he warned me and I didn't listen and…" he fades off again and swallows nervously.

Arthur is staring at him like he's ready to put his fist through a wall and Barry's not sure how to back out of this situation. He smiles to try and lighten the mood but it feels forced. "Look, it's not a big deal-"

"Yes, it _is_ ," Arthur cuts him off, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's a big damn deal. Kid, do you seriously not realize how fucked up that is?"

It's Barry's turn to shake his head and he slumps a little. "Well yeah, I mean I know it's pretty messed up but-"

"No buts," Arthur cuts him off, his jaw set firmly. "Stop trying to justify it and treat it for what it is. That's abuse, kid, plain and simple, and there's no excuse for it. Why didn't you call the cops?"

Barry shrugs helplessly. He remembers the conversations he'd had with Clark and Diana and how they'd ended about like this. "I mean, I just dealt with it, man. I didn't have anywhere else to go and yeah, Dave was a huge jerk but it beat sleeping on the street. Besides, as long as I stayed away from him it wasn't so bad. You can't hit what isn't there, you know?" Barry says and he tries for another half-hearted smile but it falls flat.

Arthur looks like he wants to punch something. "That shit ain't right."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me," Barry agrees with a humorless laugh.

The Atlantean stares at him wordlessly for a moment before huffing out a sigh and dropping his shoulders like the heaviness of the conversation is a physical weight. "Jesus, and I thought my family was messed up," he mutters, more to himself than Barry, before fixing the younger man with a look. "Alright listen, I have some things I need to take care of and I need you to be quiet while I do them. If you can shut up for the next five minutes I'll buy you lunch. Deal?"

"Deal," Barry agrees with a small smile, clearly glad to be done with the previous conversation.

"Good," Arthur says before turning back to what he had been working on before.

Barry lasts for a minute and thirty-four seconds before he starts talking again.

Arthur still buys him lunch.

 **OOOOO**

Barry isn't really sure what he expected when he decided to tag along with Bruce tonight but it was more than this. He figured there would be a lot more action, bank robberies or car chases or _something_. But no, the night had been absurdly quiet and uneventful and Barry was getting bored. In a city as crime-riddled as Gotham, there was a decided lack of crime this evening. Which should be a good thing but still, it made for a dull evening.

Bruce hadn't asked him to join him on his patrol but he hadn't turned Barry away when he volunteered. Barry had seen the newspapers and Youtube videos that documented the Batman's nightly escapades but it was totally different seeing it in person than it was seeing it on TV so when Bruce got ready to leave that evening, Barry was eager to tag along. Besides, he reasoned, he was a superhero now and it was a superhero's job to protect the city.

Except there's nothing to protect, not tonight. Tonight it's all people running red lights and littering; there's no crime, no danger, no citizens in need of saving. Tonight it's just _boring_.

"So is it always like this on Wednesdays or is today the anomaly?" Barry asks, swinging his legs over the side of the building they're currently perched on.

Bruce is silent for a minute, his attention focused on the skyline of the sprawling expanse of city that lays before them. "A quiet night is a good night," he answers finally, cryptically. His voice is deep and rough like he's been gargling with rocks. "Trust me, you don't want to be around when things get loud."

Barry wants to chuckle at the heavy drama behind the older man's words but he doesn't because Bruce is in full Batman mode right now and he takes himself very seriously when the cowl is on. Still, there's nothing happening and Barry needs something to pass the time so he starts thinking up things to talk about.

He wants to ask about some of the more colorful criminals Bruce had faced off with in the past, the ones who were frontpage news everytime they made an appearance. He has tons of questions about the Joker and the Riddler and Poison Ivy because they don't have anything like that back home and the idea of battling costumed supervillains is more than a little interesting.

He wants to ask all of this but he can't because right as he opens his mouth there's a short scream from somewhere in the apartment building across the street followed by loud pop that can only be a gunshot.

Bruce is already moving, leaping off the side of the building without a second thought. Barry is right behind him, reaching the street a split second later and following Bruce into the building.

The hallway is filled with confused and concerned tenants, each stepping outside their door cautiously and looking around to find the source of the noise. Bruce ignores all of them, making his way down the last apartment at the end of the hall while Barry follows along behind him, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to reassure the other tenants and get them to go back inside their apartments for their own safety.

The apartment door bursts inward with one well-placed kick and Bruce pushes his way in to find a man waving a gun around the room in a drunken rage. A woman's body crumpled is on the floor of the living room, a pool of blood spreading outward from beneath her red-tinted blonde hair. The man is screaming incoherently, waving his gun at the downed woman, and he makes the mistake of turning toward Bruce.

Almost instantly he's on the ground, the gun knocked out of his hand and a knee in his back. Barry sees this all happen in a matter of seconds and blinks because Bruce can be ruthlessly efficient when he wants to be. There's a voice behind his left shoulder and Barry turns to see a man standing in the hall behind him, a cell phone pressed to his ear and a shell-shocked expression on his face.

"I-I've called the police already," the man stammers, his eyes falling on the scene unfolding in the apartment. "Oh my God…"

Barry nods at the man and pats him on the shoulder. "That's good, man, good job. Just stay out here, alright?"

The man nods nervously and takes a staggering step backward, the blood draining from his face. For a second Barry thinks he might pass out and he starts to move toward him but there's a noise that stops him, a soft, half-choked sob, and he wheels around to look back into the apartment.

A little boy is standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms, tears shining in his eyes. He looks like he's about five and he's shaking all over. Bruce sees him too and he nods to Barry while keeping his weight on the struggling man's back. "Take care of him," he tells him simply and Barry nods and makes his way into the apartment.

"Hey buddy," he says, crouching down in front of the little boy and physically blocking his view of what's going on in the living room. "How about you come with me, huh? It's not safe out here."

The little boy lets out a hiccupped sob, the tears streaming down his face. "Who are you?" he asks, his tiny voice wobbling as he speaks.

"I'm a...uh...I'm a friend," Barry tells him brightly, forcing a smile on his face. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, okay? I'm here to keep you safe."

He considers picking him up and rushing him out of the apartment but something stops him. Namely, the sight of the tiny blonde girl weeping in bedroom behind the little boy. She's younger than her brother, maybe three at best, and she's curled into the corner as small as humanly possible. She locks eyes with Barry briefly and starts crying harder. _Shit._

"Hey sweetheart, it's okay, don't cry," Barry soothes, trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. He pulls off his cowl so both children can see his face. "It's okay," he says again even though it's clearly not but he needs to say something because these kids are terrified.

There's a clatter behind them, one of the man's legs kicks out and crashes into a coffee table, and Barry has ushered the little boy back into the bedroom with his sister and closed the door behind them before he realizes he's moved. He needs to get the kids out of here but at the moment he's just concerned with keeping a door and a wall between them and their father.

He drops to his knees on the floor in front of the two crying children and tries for a smile. "Okay guys, we're just going to hang out in here for a little while, sound good? Everything is going to be okay."

"Where's mommy?" the little girl sobs, pulling her knees up to her chest a little more.

"Daddy hurt her again," her brother tells her, his voice hitching as he speaks. The little girl sobs again and covers her face with her tiny hands.

For a split second, Barry has no idea what to do. He can't think of anything to say or do that would make the situation even marginally better and he feels at a loss. He remembers the night his own mother died, how helpless and alone he felt, and now these kids are facing the same future. He shakes his head and pulls himself back to the present; these kids need someone and that someone happens to be him, at least for the time being.

"There are some people coming to help your mom, don't worry," he says, the words feeling heavy and hollow as he says them. He knows there won't be anything they can do but there's no sense in telling the kids that.

The boy stifles another sob and walks over to pull his sister out of the corner. She resists for a minute before finally giving up and allowing him to tug her away from the wall. Both of them are shaking all over, trembling from head to toe, and Barry feels his heart clench at the pitiful sight.

"Here," he says, grabbing a blanket that had fallen off one of the beds and bundling it around them, hoping to add at least some semblance of comfort. "Can you tell me you names?" he asks, trying literally anything to keep their minds off what's going on in the other room.

"Ben," the little boy tells him, hiccuping a little when he speaks.

"Ben, huh?" Barry says with a bright grin. "It's nice to meet you, Ben."

A small nod is his answer and Ben nudges his sister from beneath the blanket. The little girl sniffles miserably and scrubs at her face. "Sophia," she says finally.

"Sophia," Barry repeats, reaching up and gently brushing her tangled blonde hair away from her face. His mind flashes to her mother's blonde hair, red-streaked and matted in the other room. He swallows and forces a smile on his face. "That's a beautiful name."

The little girl swallows another sob surges forward to cling to him, forgetting her earlier fear and burying her face in his shoulder. Barry is surprised for a split second but he recovers quickly and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and cradling her tiny body against his chest. The bottom of her nightgown is damp and he's pretty sure she wet herself while tucked in the corner.

Ben follows suit a second or so later, copying his sister's actions and tucking himself in Barry's lap next to Sophia. His small fingers tangle in the blanket tucked around their shoulders and the side of Barry's suit.

Barry holds both of them tightly, rocking side-to-side slightly as the wail of sirens filters in from the street outside and voices fill the apartment on the other side of the door. He can hear Bruce talking to someone and the crackle of static over walkie-talkies as more police officers enter the living room.

He frowns to himself in realization. The whole apartment will be swarming with cops and paramedics before it's all said and done and the kids will be stuck in the middle of it. Barry feels a muscle in his jaw clench; he remembers being stuck in the middle of that chaos when he was a kid and he's not about to let it happen to the two children clinging to him.

He slips his cowl back on and readjusts the kids in his arms before standing carefully. The blanket starts to slip and he catches it, rearranging it around the children's shoulders and looking down at them. "Alright guys, we're gonna step outside to meet the police now and I need you both to close your eyes super tight and not open them until I say so, okay?"

He's met with two small nods and both children do as they're told, squeezing their eyes closed and hiding their faces against his chest. He turns and opens the door, stepping out just as a uniformed officer reaches for the doorknob. The officer freezes for a second, hand hovering near his weapon, but once he realizes Barry isn't a threat he relaxes just slightly.

"He's with me," Bruce informs all the officers present in full-on Batman voice, almost like he's daring them to question him. No one does.

The officer closest to Barry sees the children bundled in his arms and reaches for them. "Here, I'll take-"

"No," Barry cuts him off with a pointed look. He glances across the room and sees a white sheet being placed over the lifeless woman on the floor. He shakes his head, a heavy lump forming in his throat. "Not here," he says, a bit softer this time, nodding down to the two children in his arms still. "Let's get them outside."

The officer nods in understanding and motions Barry forward, escorting him toward the door and out into the hallway. A bundle of police officers and paramedics are making their way toward the apartment and the officer leading Barry out stops them and indicates the two children.

A large man who looks like he's more brick wall than human steps forward out of the group of paramedics and stops in front of Barry. He has a kind face and warm eyes and he scoops the two children, blanket and all, into his large arms like they weigh nothing at all.

Before Barry can even react, the paramedic is turning and walking back down the hall, whisking the traumatized children out of the apartment building and likely to a waiting ambulance outside.

Barry takes a step forward, halfway intent on following him to make sure the kids are okay, when the officer stops him with a gentle yet firm hand on his chest. "They're fine kid," he tells him, almost as a warning. "Leave it to the experts."

Barry lets out a rough, choked laugh in response and shakes his head. "Trust me, pal, if anyone is an expert in something like this it's me. Me and those kids could practically start our own dead mother's society."

The officer gives him a strange look and Barry curses under his breath. "Sorry, that was inappropriate," he mutters, looking over the officer's shoulder to where the paramedic had whisked the children away. "I lost my mom like this too so I know what they're going through."

He sighs, shakes his head, and turns away. "Just...just take care of them, alright?"

The officer nods once before responding to something on his radio. He steps away to meet up with another clump of officers toward the end of the hall, leaving Barry feeling strangely bereft and alone in a hallway filled with people.

He turns back to toward the apartment and immediately wishes he hadn't. He catches sight of Bruce speaking with one of the officers as two others drag the drunk, handcuffed man out of the apartment. A few other officers stay behind to photograph the scene and there's a flutter of movement behind them as the paramedics load the woman's body onto a gurney. She's still covered in a blood-soaked white sheet and it's such a jarring image it almost doesn't seem real.

Suddenly Barry can't breathe, he can't think, he can't move, he can't do anything. He's nine years old all over again, watching as his father gets arrested, watching as his mother's body is loaded into a body bag. It's like it's happening all over again and Barry feels something hollow and deep break open in his chest. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get away from this apartment and the blood on the floor and the body on the gurney.

His vision tunnels a little and he thinks he sees Bruce take a step toward him, he thinks he hears him say something, but it's all too much. He shakes his head, takes a step back, and then he's gone.

 **OOOOO**

He doesn't even realize he's moved until he finds himself standing on the docks of the harbor on the complete opposite side of town. For a brief moment he's confused, not sure where he is or how he got there, but then the long, low wail of a ship horn rumbles out across the water and everything comes rushing back.

He grimaces in spite of himself, gritting his teeth tightly. The hollowness in his chest is still there, painful and gaping like an open wound. It's an uncomfortable sensation, one he hasn't felt in years, and it's enough to take his breath away. His vision tunnels again and he's just cognizant enough to know that if he doesn't get it together he's going to spiral into a full-blown panic attack.

He doubles over and catches his hands on his knees, forcing himself to draw in a slow, deep breath and release it with a shudder. It hurts all the way down to his core but he keeps doing it. He repeats the process three more times, each breath coming easier until it feels like his lungs are no longer filled with concrete.

Suddenly exhausted, he staggers over to nearest building and presses his back against the wall, sliding gracelessly down to the concrete. He pulls his cowl away from his face and sighs when the air hits his sweat-damp skin. His hair hangs across his forehead in disheveled clumps but he doesn't try to push it away. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't have the energy to do anything.

He actively tries not to think of anything, to focus his attention on the night-dark waters of the harbor or replaying the stupid jingle from the commercial for an insurance company he saw earlier. It doesn't work; his mind starts to drift back to the night his mother died and his father was blamed. In spite of his best efforts, all he can picture is the red and blue lights of the police cars outside his window, the broken sound of his father's voice as he was led out in handcuffs, and the splash of blood across his mother's wedding ring.

Barry never hears Bruce arrive, he's suddenly just there. The older man says nothing for several minutes, approaching Barry silently and coming to a stop a few feet away. His expression is unreadable but Barry isn't sure how much of that is intentional and how much of it is from the mask.

After a minute, Barry finds his voice. "Are the kids alright?" he asks, hating how shaky the words sound coming out.

Bruce nods once and takes another small step forward. "Their maternal grandparents have been notified," he says simply, watching Barry's face as he approaches. "They should be here in a few hours to take the children."

"And identify the body," Barry supplies numbly, offering a small, humorless smile. "It's okay, you can say it. I know how it works."

But Bruce says nothing, he just stands there like a silent sentry. The suit is still on, the mask still covering his face, but in that moment he's not Batman or the Dark Knight or the Caped Crusader. It's hard to describe but in that moment, he's just Bruce.

Barry sighs heavily and lets his head fall back against the brick wall behind him. "You'd think I'd be over it by now," he mutters to himself, passing his fingers clumsily through his hair. "This is so stupid…"

Bruce takes another step forward, this time coming to a stop just a few feet to Barry's right. He doesn't try to touch him or reach out to him or anything like that; he lets him have his space because he needs it but he makes sure he's close enough for Barry to know he's there.

He looks out across the harbor, shoulders rigid for a moment before he speaks. "There are no time limits for things like this, Barry," he says finally, glancing back at the younger man. "People don't just wake up one morning, completely over their trauma. It takes time." He's silent for a moment before adding, "sometimes it takes a lifetime."

Barry shakes his head slowly. "I was those kids, Bruce. I went through the same thing they did. And now they-" he stops, gesturing helplessly with one hand.

He doesn't know what he wants to say; that those kids are going to have nightmares about this night for years? That they'll constantly question themselves, wondering if there was anything they could have done to prevent it? That there's always going to be this jagged, gaping hole in their lives now? He wants to say all of that and none of it at all so he compromises and says nothing.

He sighs and shakes his head again. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, slumping in defeat. "It just seems so pointless sometimes, you know? Like, we saved the _entire world_ a few weeks ago and tonight we couldn't even prevent this…"

He fades off again, chancing a glance at Bruce. He's expecting the older man to be irritated or annoyed by his moment of weakness, to tell him to get up and suck it up because they still have work to do. But Bruce does none of that; he just listens wordlessly as Barry makes a futile attempt to make sense of what happened tonight.

After a moment, Bruce clears his throat, the sound gruff yet muted. "One of the hardest lessons you'll ever learn is that sometimes you don't get there in time. Sometimes you arrive five minutes, five seconds too late and there's nothing more you can do. The worst part about this," he says, motioning between himself and Barry. "Is that sometimes you're not the hero, sometimes you're just there to pick up the pieces."

He looks back over the water, gaze distant and hardened. "The ultimate cruelty of life is that sometimes you won't always be in time to save it," Bruce says after another moment of silence passes between them. "There are going to be times where no matter how fast or strong or prepared you are, it won't be enough. And yes, it sucks, but instead of focusing on what you can't do it helps to think about what you can."

He looks down at Barry, his expression still carefully neutral. "What you did for those kids tonight? That's what being a hero is. You kept them safe, you comforted them when they were scared and sometimes that's all you can do."

Barry almost smiles but it feels like a grimace instead. He can't get the images out of his head; the bloody sheet, the flash of the gun, the tear-streaked faces of the children clinging to him. It doesn't help that his own memories are intermingling with the scene from tonight, the murdered woman's face replaced with his mother's. He lets out a long, slow breath and blinks out at the harbor. "Tonight sucked, Bruce."

That earns a very quiet, subdued chuckle from the older man and he nods in agreement. "Yeah, it did," he says simply, reaching down and plucking Barry off the ground easily. "Come on, it's time to go home."

Barry blinks in confusion for a moment. "Home?"

Bruce nods once. "Yeah, home," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Alfred will start to worry."

It takes a second for Barry to realize Bruce isn't talking about sending him back to his ramshackle apartment or any of the other places he's crashed throughout the years. He's talking about the manor and he's including Barry in the implication of 'home'.

In spite of everything, Barry feels the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, home sounds good."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! :D**


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